Stiff Upper Lip, Jeeves

far too much addicted.
    ‘Jeeves told me about you and Plank. Very funny.’
    ‘I’m glad you think so. We personally were not amused.’
    Jeeves, as always, found the way.
    ‘If you will give the object to me, miss, I will see that it is restored to its place.’
    ‘Thank you, Jeeves. Well, good-bye all. I’m off to find Harold,’ said Stiffy, and she withdrew, dancing on the tips of her toes.
    I shrugged a shoulder.
    ‘Women, Jeeves!’
    ‘Yes, sir.’
    ‘What a sex!’
    ‘Yes, sir.’
    ‘Do you remember something I said to you about Stiffy on our previous visit to Totleigh Towers?’
    ‘Not at the moment, no, sir.’
    ‘It was on the occasion when she landed me with Police Constable Oates’s helmet just as my room was about to be searched by Pop Bassett and his minions. Dipping into the future, I pointed out that Stiffy, who is pure padded cell from the foundations up, was planning to marry the Rev. H.P. Pinker, himself as pronounced a goop as ever preached about the Hivites and Hittites, and I speculated, if you recall, as to what their offspring, if any, would be like.’
    ‘Ah yes, sir, I recollect now.’
    ‘Would they, I asked myself, inherit the combined loopiness of two such parents?’
    ‘Yes, sir, you were particularly concerned, I recall, for the well-being of the nurses, governesses, private schoolmasters and public schoolmasters who would assume the charge of them.’
    ‘Little knowing that they were coming up against something hotter than mustard. Exactly. The thought still weighs heavy upon me. However, we haven’t leisure to go into the subject now. You’d better take that ghastly object back where it belongs without delay.’
    ‘Yes, sir. If it were done when ‘twere done, then ‘twere well it were done quickly,’ he said, making for the door, and I thought, as I had so often thought before, how neatly he put these things.
    It seemed to me that the time had now come to adopt the strategy which I had had in mind right at the beginning - viz. to make my getaway via the window. With Plank at large in the house and likely at any moment to come winging back to where the drinks were, safety could be obtained only by making for some distant yew alley or rhododendron walk and remaining ensconced there till he had blown over. I hastened to the window, accordingly, and picture my chagrin and dismay on finding that Bartholomew, instead of continuing his stroll, had decided to take a siesta on the grass immediately below. I had actually got one leg over the sill before he was drawn to my attention. In another half jiffy I should have dropped on him as the gentle rain from heaven upon the spot beneath.
    I had no difficulty in recognizing the situation as what the French call an impasse, and as I stood pondering what to do for the best, footsteps sounded without, and feeling that ‘twere well it were done quickly I made for the sofa once more, lowering my previous record by perhaps a split second.
    I was surprised, as I lay nestling in my little nook, by the complete absence of dialogue that ensued. Hitherto, all my visitors had started chatting from the moment of their entry, and it struck me as odd that I should now be entertaining a couple of deaf mutes. Peeping cautiously out, however, I found that I had been mistaken in supposing that I had with me a brace of guests. It was Madeline alone who had blown in. She was heading for the piano, and something told me that it was her intention to sing old folk songs, a pastime to which, as I have indicated, she devoted not a little of her leisure. She was particularly given to indulgence in this nuisance when her soul had been undergoing an upheaval and required soothing, as of course it probably did at this juncture.
    My fears were realized. She sang two in rapid succession, and the thought that this sort of thing would be a permanent feature of our married life chilled me to the core. I’ve always been what you might call allergic to old folk songs, and the older they are, the more I dislike them.
    Fortunately, before she could start on a third she was interrupted. Clumping footsteps sounded, the door handle turned, heavy breathing made itself heard, and a voice said ‘Madeline!’ Spode’s voice, husky with emotion.
    ‘Madeline,’ he said, ‘I’ve been looking for you everywhere.’
    ‘Oh, Roderick! How is your eye?’
    ‘Never mind my eye,’ said Spode. ‘I didn’t come here to talk about eyes.’
    ‘They say a piece of